


He is the Same

by swagikins



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Abandonment, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Crime RIngs, F/M, Fiskley is platonic, Heavy Violence, Mentions of self-harm, My boy Wes is gonna be alone most of the time, New Jersey, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, This boy deserves more love, Young Wesley, angst everywhere, etc - Freeform, its a brotp, near the end anyways, these tags are a mess, young au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-14
Updated: 2017-03-14
Packaged: 2018-10-03 19:47:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10256354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swagikins/pseuds/swagikins
Summary: "Nothing has changed." Leland commented.Fisk studied the slight tremble in Wesley's hands. The Rolex he wore made a clinking noise, which was quite hard to hear, but it was audible in the auditorium that the group stood in. It was abandoned, so it was a convenient and often-frequent place of meeting up, thus, leading us to where they now were. Fisk circled Wesley, watching him, making sure not a single toe was out of line; it was as if Wesley was the hunted, and Fisk the hunter, despite them both already establishing a dynamic between them that they were both comfortable with. Even then, with Wilson stopping just behind an already nervous Wesley, who didn't move a single muscle, Fisk seemed to enjoy blowing that dynamic all to hell, just to mess with James.Things were rocky between them, Wesley reasoned with himself. It's fine."He is the same." Fisk finished.





	

**Author's Note:**

> You can thank a blog on Tumblr for the au idea, my boy Wes deserved better and he shall get what he deserves !!!
> 
> Zoë Saldana is Shea, and if anyone needs an idea of where we are/what year/all that bullshit, let's just say James is about 21-22?? Since?? Dropped out of senior year of college??? 
> 
> This was a lot longer than I hoped, so enjoy~~
> 
> (Title of fic and first two chapters are Jon Bellion songs/albums, and I wrote this all in my notes so if you see mistakes tell me)

It was dark.

Well, really, it was a near-dawn, with the sun not visible in the distance, but light flooded the sky in a light blue of sorts. It was cloudy, a little humid, and the neighborhood was albeit quieter than normal. While James Wesley was perched on the front porch steps, watching the empty street and stray cat that seemed to cross it once a day, he held a cigarette between his fingers, lost in the feeling of the nicotine filling his lungs.

He brought to cigarette to his lips and took a drag, making sure that the sleeves of his shirt didn't slip down as he did so. With it being so chilly, he didn't want to feel the nipping of the cold at his freshly scarred arms. He glanced down while exhaling some smoke, watching a ladybug crawl across the back of his hand that rested on his knee. It was bare of spots; a dark red, almost crimson in color. It tickled his hand, until it bit him.

He winced and flung the bug off of his hand. He let his other hand flop, resting lazily over his leg while his elbow was resting on his knee, and with the heavy weight of drowsiness slowly lifting along with the rising sun, he raised his right hand up and looked at the bite mark.

He frowned. He was bleeding. As he wiped his hand on the back of his leg, he attempted to take another drag of his cigarette while watching a car go by, he didn't notice the door of his house open, shut, and the soft pattering of light footsteps beside him until the cigarette was forcefully yanked from his fingers, flicked into the driveway, and snubbed out by the dew of the grass that poked out of the cracks in the cement. 

Someone sat beside him; in close proximity, too, he noticed, and they were warm. Their thighs were bare, save for the light tickle of the hem of a t-shirt, and long curls of hair, and the person merely leaned into his side when he acknowledged them, linking a small arm through his own before taking his right hand and studying his ladybug bite that had grown into a small welt. 

"Those'll kill you, you know." She said quietly, fiddling with his fingers that bore scars from hard labor over the years, and the curve of his palm, and his wrist, before pressing her thumb onto his bite mark. Her voice was soft, quiet, full of sleepiness and a slight hoarseness from lack of talking. Or screaming, Wesley thought. He couldn't tell which. "The cigarettes, I mean. They could kill me too." 

She brushed some dark curls out of her eyes, not bothering to glance over at James while he looked off into the distance. He didn't move, and she didn't either, and they both stayed like that for a while, with her playing with his hand that dwarfed her own and made her look so small underneath him, no matter the situation, whether it be now or later or last night with her bare and breathless and him curling over her—

Ahem.

"All that secondhand smoking talk is nonsense. You and I both know that never happens." James said simply. He sounded plain, simple, with a rigid, edgey type of raspiness to his voice, as if he just woke up, which was an utter lie; he's been up for hours, and the cigarette butts hidden under the welcome mat was proof of his morning endeavors. He didn't bother pulling his hand away from her, since he didn't mind the gesture much. It was a normal thing for them, he thought briskly. She knew he wasn't touchy-feel-y in the morning, and she was okay with that.

Didn't mean she wouldn't be, though.

"Oh yeah?" She murmured softly, and the corners of her lips curled up into a ghosted smile, revealing her pearly white teeth and pierced tongue. It made Wesley remember when he had accompanied her to get such a piercing; he got his own as well, and they were remembered by the two silver rings in his ears that he never seemed to take out. 

Wesley hummed in a quiet response. A bird chirped off to the tree to his right. A squirrel darted through the grass, and it was here when he realized that he probably ought to get inside now, since Mother Nature herself was starting to awaken. Though, he couldn't seem to budge, as the cold nipped at his bare feet and hands, and the girl to his right wouldn't let him get up.

"Alright then, Mister English Major. Because you're totally right in terms of medical science." She uttered into his ear, and leaning back to her position, rested her head against his shoulder. The dark blue fabric of his shirt bunched up when she did so, and he had to reach over to tug his sleeve down that happened to ride up a little. 

He didn't reply to that. He still had...things, to work out, in relation to college, but he also had no room to talk. He wanted to be an English major, and he was an English major, and he was so close to finishing out the year, the semester was almost over, but everything happened so fast and the economy made a slight downfall and he had to drop out, and was unable to finish and it made him so fucking mad, he just wanted to do something right for his damn—

"I'm sorry, James. Didn't...Didn't mean to bring that up. It just slipped." She said after a while. He looked over, and he figured she only apologized because she could see the thought process going on in his head on his face, and that made him click his tongue. Of course, he thought. That's what they all say. 

"It's alright, Shea." He replied nonchalantly, though there was a hidden undertone to his tone of voice, that showed the slightest amount of sympathy he would allow. She acknowledged this with a sigh and a light kiss to the side of his head while she stood. The shirt she wore was one of Wesley's old ones; really, it wasn't that old, being just recently one of the issued button-ups he had to wear for classes that he now had no use for. It looked cute on her is what he always reasoned, and it was true. She did.

Shea tugged at his elbow, and he stood with her, sighing ever so quietly while he turned to face her. She was short, came up to about mid-chest on him, so really, he faced down at her, brushing some of her hair out of her eyes, and tucking the strand behind her ear. 

"You need a hair cut," he said randomly. Shea's hair came all the way down to her lower back, curly and wavy and straight and everything in between, but he would admit, her hair was beautiful, in both length and color, with the color being a dark chestnut brown; safe to say it was his favorite color. 

"Hm..? Liar. You love my hair." Shea laughed softly, bringing her hands up to rest around Wesley's neck, rubbing her thumbs over some stubble across his jaw absentmindedly. She eyed him lazily, with that look of just love and devotion flirting across her face at the sight of James Wesley, her James Wesley. "You need to shave." She hummed as a retort.

This earned Shea a laugh. Wesley smiled at her, looked at a passing Chevrolet pick-up on the street, then glanced back at her with an unreadable glint in his blue eyes. She kept running her thumbs over his jaw, occasionally brushing against the underside of his chin, before running her fingers through his overgrown, curly hair. He curled into her touch, almost as if it were instinct. "Now we both know that is a lie, Shea."

Indeed, it was. She loved the stubble on him. It tickled her neck when he was kissing her, sent shivers down her spine, made goosebumps appear along her arms, even tickled the insides of her thighs when he would be kissing up her legs, and when he was—

"Fine, you got me there." She huffed, though had a faint smirk on her lips. One look up at the clearing sky, and she dropped the grin, and without a single word, tugged James into the house and shut the door with a click. She missed it when he grabbed the pack of cigarettes from under the fern by their door, and the lighter too, stuffing them both into the pocket of his sweatpants.

~

It was snowing, now. Mid-December.

"What else do we need, sweetheart?" James said softly, trailing behind Shea with a basket in hand. His flannel hung low on his person, and he had to roll up the red and black sleeves to his elbows, buttoning them and shifting the Dollar General basket to his other arm. He had an unlit cigarette between his lips, and even with Shea's displeasing stare, didn't bother putting it away. 

Shea brushed her hair, which was in a long braid, over her shoulder, and tugged the shirt she wore down over her midriff. She turned to face the rows of bread and rolls and whatnot, and it made James furrow his brow for a moment, because why the fuck would they need bread when neither of them ate any type of sandwich in the first place? 

Shea tapped her chin with a black painted fingernail, and grabbed a loaf of bagels; cinnamon raisin. Eh. He could deal with that.

"Do we have any Cokes at home?" She said simply, though in a way he would call incredibly cute, and looked at him with a curious look. "I think we still have some beer for you, maybe. I dunno." She turned back to the wall of groceries and walked down the isle a little.

"I think we have a couple, yes." He murmured. "And I can get some more beer on the way home." He rocked on the balls of his feet for a second, and followed after her, even going around the corner and into the next isle. On this one, it was rows of freezers that held ice cream, pizza, and--

"Pizza rolls!" Shea snapped her fingers with a cheeky smile, and hopped over to the middle of the isle, turning to her right, and pulling open the freezer and retrieving what James would call a big ass bag of pizza rolls, walked over to him and placed the bag in their basket before pressing a chaste kiss to his lips in a gentle, but firm, loving way.

Shea pulled back and twirled, before going down the isle and slipping into the next one. She called out, "Come on, James!" with a laugh that made his heart thud in his chest, and a smile blooming over his lips as he shook his head. Shea was perhaps the only soul to make him give such a smile, he thought, and knew deep down that he was in love with this girl. 

They'd been together for maybe two years now, going on three, and it would probably be the best three years he's ever known. They had met during his sophomore year of college, with her being an intern at the local attorney's office, but after his forced hand at turning in the books and dropping out just before his final exam, it was just them forevermore. She was merely a couple years older than him, maybe two, but even then, he couldn't give two flying shits.

She was beautiful. She made him feel like himself. Even if she didn't approve of him smoking.

Two isles later and three more additions to their already full basket, James and Shea walked to the front of the Dollar General, towards the check-out line. Shea started placing the food items -- and, ahem, other necessities -- on the conveyor belt, singing to herself and swinging her hips; though, it wasn't noticeable to anyone, anyone save for Wesley. She did this, for him, only for him.

As Shea was walking out, back to the car with their bags in hand, Wesley lingered behind. He stood at the register, watching her figure as it got to their truck, before quickly looking to the employee behind the counter. He looked down at his hands, counting the twenties in his pocket, before pulling two out and holding them up to the employee. He stuffed the rest of his money back in his wallet, and eyeing the man firmly, said, "Two Marlboro red shorts in the box, please." 

Wesley placed the bills on the counter. The employee looked at the money, took it slowly, before kneeling and plucking two boxes of the desired cigarettes from their compartment. After that, he shut the glass cabinet they were behind and locked it, with his keys jingling and being put away when he stood. The employee, named Archie -- from his name tag -- looked to the exit, past the glass doors, at Shea, who sat in the passenger seat of their truck, one leg propped on the rear-view mirror and one swinging lazily against the frame of the truck. She was twirling a curl of hair around her fingers, obviously waiting for James.

"You could die from those, you know." Archie commented simply, handing over the cigarettes with a raised eyebrow. "Lung cancer, that bullshit." He added.

James Wesley looked at the worker skeptically. "And?"

"She could too. Secondhand smoking, you know. My aunt died from that." The employee replied, folding his arms. "My uncle didn't smoke for the rest of his days after her funeral." 

Wesley stuffed the cigarettes in his pocket, right next to his wallet. He narrowed his eyes at Archie, and looked him up and down. "Sure. Whatever. Have a pleasant day, sir." He walked to his beauty by the car without another word.


End file.
